


Nightbird 2010

by wheel_pen



Series: Immortals [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3456005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tragic car accident upends the family raising a Nightbird child, and Lio Nightbird wonders if it was really an accident at all. Just a few scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nightbird 2010

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. The Immortals are powerful Earth beings who have children with mortals and are supposed to take care of them. The different clans are inspired by various movies and TV shows.  
> 2\. The bad words are censored; that’s just how I do things.  
> 3\. I own nothing, and I appreciate the chance to play in these universes.
> 
> Lio is played by Ralph Fiennes, for visual reference.

Nebraska, January, 2010

 

_Singing. Someone was singing softly near him, soothingly._

_“Is the boy alright?” A man’s voice._

_“Yes.” A woman’s, the singer’s. “The others?”_

_“The girl will live. The rest are dead.”_

_“How could this happen?” She sounded angry, distressed._

_“I don’t know.” He was also angry, frustrated._

_Sirens in the distance. “We should go,” the man urged._

_“We can’t leave him here in the snow!” the woman countered._

_The sirens grew louder. “He will be cared for,” the man cajoled. “We will see him again soon.”_

_“There’s one over here!” someone shouted, a new voice, loud and harsh. “Check the van! Hey, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes? What’s your name?”_

_“Harry.” Whispered, forced out._

_“Well don’t worry, Harry, you’re gonna be just fine.”_

_Somehow, he knew that was a lie._

 

**

 

            Snowman Xing.

            That was what the sign on the porch said, propped up next to the little fake pine tree that barely cleared the snow drifted up around it. It took Lio a moment to realize it was supposed to be “Crossing,” like the “Deer Crossing” signs posted along the wooded highways in warning. A little winter humor, he supposed. He wondered if Tali would appreciate a similar souvenir, though it would be a little ridiculous—okay, even more ridiculous—as they didn’t get much snow in Louisiana. Finally he detected movement behind the heavy door and heard the sound of locks unbolting. The door swung open to the well-lit interior of a cozy home, partially blocked by a woman whose face said she had been feeling far from cozy lately.

            “Good evening, ma’am,” Lio greeted. His courtly Southern accent took her by surprise, he could see. “My name is Lio Nightbird.” The name meant nothing to her. “I sent you a letter,” he reminded her gently. “I have also been in contact with your attorney, a Mr. Thomas—“

            Recognition shot across her face. “Oh! I’m sorry, please come in.”

            “Thank you.” She opened the door wider and he stepped in, removing his hat.

            “I’m sorry,” she repeated, shutting the door behind him. “I shouldn’t have made you stand out in the—Well, I just didn’t recognize your name immediately,” she apologized.

            “That’s quite alright, Mrs. Doyle,” he assured her. She started to offer to take his coat but then realized he wasn’t wearing one, not a winter coat, anyway—just the jacket for his suit, which was all white. Off-white, compared to the snow. And speaking of snow, there was none on his shoes for him to wipe on the mat by her door, though the sidewalk and porch hadn’t been recently swept.

            “I trust this isn’t a bad time?” he questioned, glancing around the foyer. There was a room off to the side, some kind of formal living room from the look of it, with a dark-haired boy curled up on the sheet-draped sofa, staring listlessly at the wall.

            “No, it’s fine,” Mrs. Doyle insisted, drawing his attention. “Why don’t we go to the kitchen?” That was down the hall, away from the living room. “My husband’s not home yet,” she went on as Lio followed her into the bright kitchen. “I thought he would be. He went with our children to a school basketball game…” There was worry in her voice.

            “The roads are clear,” Lio assured her, taking a seat at the table as she indicated.

            “Would you like some tea, er, Mr. Nightbird?” She discreetly read his name off the note reminding her of his visit, which was attached to a wall calendar.

            “Thank you kindly,” he agreed, seeing that it would calm her to make it. There was a brief pause. “May I say, Mrs. Doyle, how terribly sorry I am for your loss.”

            She had heard that a lot lately. “Yes, thank you,” she replied quietly. There wasn’t much else to say.

            “I understand your niece is in the hospital,” Lio went on casually, glancing at the pile of envelopes on the table near him. His letter was probably in there somewhere, unopened. “How is she doing?”

            “Oh, well, she’s—it’s a miracle she survived,” Mrs. Doyle said. “It’s hard to say, about her condition.”

            “Of course.” He didn’t try to make further conversation until the woman returned with his mug of tea. “Thank you.”

            She sat down opposite him with her own cup and paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts. “Well, Mr. Nightbird,” she finally began, “I guess I don’t really understand why you’re here. Bob said it had—something to do with Harry?”

            “Yes, that’s correct,” Lio confirmed. “You recall that your nephew is adopted?”

            She seemed slightly startled by this reminder. “Yes, of course,” she agreed, as though it were just coming back to her. “We don’t think about it much,” she excused, embarrassed by her lapse, “but yes, I remember.”

            “I met your sister and brother-in-law many years ago, at the time of Harry’s adoption,” Lio went on, sipping his tea. “This is quite delicious, thank you. What kind is it?”

            Mrs. Doyle blinked at the change in subject. “Um, Stash White Christmas.”

            “Quite intriguing. We formed a legal arrangement stating that should they die while Harry was still a minor, his custody would revert to me,” Lio added.

            “What?” Mrs. Doyle asked him dully, not unreasonably.

            Lio nodded tactfully towards the pile of letters. “I’ve sent you a copy of the agreement,” he pointed out, gently. “I hope you and your husband will soon find the time to discuss it with your attorney.”

            Well, she would _now_. Mrs. Doyle pushed awkwardly through the stack until she found the large envelope with Lio’s name in the corner. “I’m sorry,” she told him, embarrassed again. “It’s just—there’s so much to do and—“ She sat back down, the envelope momentarily forgotten.

            “I understand,” Lio told her with sincerity.

            “And Lily was always the one who—“ She paused, face tight to keep from dissolving into tears in front of her guest, but the hitch in her voice couldn’t be hidden. “—the one who always took care of these—“ She stopped herself again.

            “I understand,” Lio repeated, more intently. “And I would like to do what I can to help you. I have also the option to assume custody of your niece,” he revealed. “I am prepared to pay all of her medical bills and other expenses.”

            “Hermione?” Now Mrs. Doyle hurried to open the envelope, only to be confronted with a thick sheaf of papers of convoluted legalese. “I don’t understand.”

            “I am Harry’s biological father.” There was utter silence in the kitchen and Lio let this idea sink in for a moment. “I would like to take him and his sister back home with me, to meet his mother and the other children.”

            “Oh,” was all Mrs. Doyle said for a long moment. “I just didn’t expect—“

            “Neither did I,” Lio agreed, and the thought troubled him. He started to stand. “I’m sure you have much to discuss with your husband and your attorney,” he noted. “I’m staying at a hotel in Lincoln. I hope you’ll contact me soon.” He left a business card behind on the table, snow white with a jet black bird icon beside the words and numbers.

            “Yes,” Mrs. Doyle replied, standing as well. “I’m sure we will.”

            “Would you mind if I spoke to the boy?” Lio asked courteously. He knew she would rather have him gone so she could think. “I promise to be brief. I just wanted to give him a little something, for his birthday.”

            Surprise and then shame registered on her face. “Oh, I forgot,” she admitted softly, more to herself.

            Lio pulled a small, flat package from inside his jacket. “Perhaps you would like to give him this, then,” he offered modestly. “It’s a handheld video game. I understand they’re popular with boys his age—“

            “Oh, no, I couldn’t—“ Mrs. Doyle began to refuse.

            “Please, I insist,” Lio told her. “It would be better coming from you, I think. I have another gift, something of more sentimental value.”

            Mrs. Doyle took the package gratefully. “Thank you.” He could see the gesture had warmed her slightly. “I suppose—if it was just for a moment—“

            “Of course.”

            “He’s in the sitting room,” she said, leading the way back down the hall. Lio hung back at the doorway to the room while Mrs. Doyle entered it, moving carefully as if afraid she might break something. She bent down to look at the boy on the sofa, trying to see if he was awake. “Harry? There’s someone here to see you, sweetie.”

            Slowly, with great effort, the boy rolled over and his aunt helped him sit up—one of his arms was in a sling. She smoothed his unruly hair in a maternal way. “This is Mr. Nightbird,” she introduced. Then, clearly, she didn’t know what else to say, so she stepped off to the side.

            Lio knelt down in front of the boy, staring at him for a long moment. Yes, he could see the resemblance—the dark, thick hair, the penetrating blue eyes that were currently red-rimmed and dull, the high cheekbones half-hidden by the childish roundness of his face. He would resemble them more as he matured, Lio thought, but he could see the beginnings now.

            “I have a gift for you,” he finally said, slipping something from his pocket. He placed a small stone in the boy’s hand. It was flat and oval, a natural grey-white, with the shape of a bird carved into it and painted black. It was identical to the logo on Lio’s business card. “I think you will find it brings you comfort to hold it,” he added.

            “Thank you,” Harry said, with automatic politeness, and Lio smiled a little.

            “I’ll see you again soon, Harry,” he commented, standing. The boy was contemplating the stone, turning it over in his hand. Lio nodded at Mrs. Doyle. “Ma’am.” He let himself out.

 

**

 

            Tali was waiting for him back at the hotel. “How was he?”

            “Quiet,” Lio replied with a little shrug. “I spoke with the aunt. She’s overwhelmed—she hadn’t read the letter.”

            “But what will she do?” his wife pressed.

            “I think it will hinge on the girl,” he decided. This was somewhat ironic, given that the girl had no magical antecedents. “If it were just the boy, I think she would want to keep him. But the girl’s medical bills will be expensive.”

            Tali nodded slowly, considering this. “You think we should take him, then, even though he’s young?”

            Lio’s gaze seemed to turn inward. “There is something at work here,” he speculated, concerned. “We should have seen this.” He refocused on his wife, determined. “I don’t want to leave him here. I want to keep him with us, where he’s safe.”

            “And the girl, too?” Tali checked.

            “They’re family,” Lio replied. “They’ll need each other.”

            “Then it’s decided,” Tali agreed. “When will we take them?”

            “The aunt and uncle are to contact me,” Lio told her. “If I don’t hear from them soon I’ll go to see them again.”

            “I should start preparing for their arrival,” Tali decided, turning away.

            “Wait a minute,” Lio countered, in a lighter tone. “I got you a present.” He handed her a plastic bag with a faint smirk. Tali took it with a bemused expression, which didn’t change after she pulled out a rustic wooden snowman holding a ‘Snowman Xing’ sign. “It’s all the rage in Nebraska this winter,” Lio deadpanned.

 

**

 

            The Doyles invited Lio over for dinner. Their lawyer had undoubtedly explained the custody arrangement Lio had made with their late relatives—with both adoptive parents dead there was little room for maneuvering; Lio’s position was strong. He didn’t want to fight for custody of the boy, though, as that would be upsetting to the child and time-consuming as well, so if the Doyles made much protest he had already decided he would give in. But, as he had told Tali, he didn’t think they would put up a fight. He could sense their genuine affection for the boy, but he and his sister were a burden they were not prepared to take on. Besides which, this was the stated desire of the late relatives.

            “So, er, Mr. Nightbird, what is it you do?” Steve Doyle asked in a determinedly casual way as he passed a dish around the table.

            “I have some property that I manage,” Lio answered innocently, “in Louisiana mostly.” Embodiment of a mythological creature didn’t really count as a solid profession these days.

            “And you live in Louisiana?” Lori Doyle confirmed. Of course she knew this; it was all for Harry’s benefit.

            “Yes, I have a large house in the bayou outside of New Orleans,” he replied, taking another dish that was handed to him. “I also have an apartment in Shreveport.” People who had two residences were considered wealthy, weren’t they, and that might be appealing. “My wife and I have a number of family members who live near us,” he went on, “including several children. My, these potatoes are delicious. Are they homemade?” he inquired, looking between the two adults.

            “Um, no, just from a box,” Lori admitted. “So, um, you’re married?”

            “Yes, my wife’s name is Tali,” he explained. The wife they wanted to know about, anyway. “She’s a teacher.”

            Clearly his hosts didn’t expect such a normal response. “What does she teach?” Steve asked, with genuine curiosity this time.

            “She teaches a multi-age group at a private school,” Lio answered carefully. Private schools also meant wealth and prestige. In reality, of course, he was referring to _their_ children Tali helped teach at home, but homeschooling was _not_ considered that prestigious here. One had to be aware of the local social mores.

            “And you said there were, er, other children in the area?” Lori reiterated. Harry had sat silently this whole time, staring at the plate of food he was picking at. He didn’t look like he was paying much attention, but Lio suspected he was hearing _some_ of it, anyway.

            “Yes, it’s a family estate,” Lio told them. “This chicken is excellent, by the way. There are several children on the property, most of them about Harry’s age, or a little younger.” He made his use of the boy’s name very casual, as if he were simply a convenient measure.

            “You must have a lot of space outdoors,” Lori hinted, “living in the country.”

            “Yes, it’s quite spacious,” Lio agreed. “The children are quite fond of exploring the forest and the creeks. One must watch out for crocodiles, of course.”

            “Well, that sounds nice,” Lori said, choosing to treat the crocodile remark as a little joke. She glanced at Harry in a not-very-subtle way. The Doyles had made the decision to tell Harry that Lio was his biological father, and that he wanted to take him and his sister home to Louisiana—although Lio gathered they had been somewhat wishy-washy about it, adding in phrases like, “if you want to” and “if you feel comfortable with it.” Lio suspected that even a child could see through such sentiments—but so much had changed in Harry’s life so quickly that Lio wasn’t sure how well he was processing all of it.

            “How is your niece doing?” Lio asked them, the forced congeniality disappearing.

            “Um, well—“ Lori began awkwardly.

            “She’s stable,” her husband answered instead, trying to make this seem like a wonderful thing. But it wasn’t so wonderful when it actually meant, ‘She’s in a coma and no one knows if she’ll ever wake up again.’

            “Ah,” Lio remarked knowingly. Not much was said after that.

            Harry went back to ‘his’ room—actually the rather formal living room—after dinner, to sit on the couch-bed and play with his video game. It turned out to be remarkably easy to manipulate with just one hand, and it seemed to occupy him remarkably well. But that had been Lio’s intention, after all.

            Lio gave the boy a few minutes to himself, then slowly walked in and sat down on the other end of the couch, angled slightly towards him. “I’d like to talk to you, Harry,” he began. The boy had hardly said two words that evening and he didn’t acknowledge Lio now. “I would like you and your sister to come and live with me in Louisiana,” he opened, reiterating the main point.

            “Hermione’s not supposed to be moved,” Harry replied, not looking up from his game.

            “I think she’ll be getting better soon,” Lio told him, and something in his tone made the boy glance at him briefly. “Your mother and I”—he saw the boy wince briefly at the phrase, but adding the word ‘biological’ to everything was clunky and clinical—“had planned to contact you when you were older, maybe fifteen or sixteen,” Lio explained. “We would have invited you to come live with us then.”

            “Why did you put me up for adoption?” Harry asked, not unreasonably.

            Lio took his time before answering. “It’s traditional among our people,” he finally said, and _that_ got the boy’s attention.

            “What?”

            Lio scooted a little closer, not uncomfortably so, but enough for his words to be heard by only the boy and not by the rest of the house. “You’re different, Harry,” he stated quietly. “I think you know what I mean. Sometimes you can do things other people can’t. Isn’t that right?”

            Harry gave him a sideways glance that seemed vaguely guilty. “No. I don’t know.”

            Lio leaned back a bit and raised his voice to a more normal level. “What do you like to do in school, Harry?” A perfectly acceptable topic of conversation. “What’s your favorite subject?”

            The boy shrugged a little. “I don’t know. History, maybe, or art.”

            Lio nodded thoughtfully. “I understand you enjoy stargazing,” he prompted, “and attending church.”

            “I guess.”

            “The universe is a mysterious and wonderful place,” Lio commented, “and those are two good ways to explore it. Have you ever had a dream about something, that later came true?” His switch in topic was so sudden and casual that the boy almost did a double-take. “Tell me about one.” Because he could see the answer was _yes_.

            “I dreamed that my friend Lance’s grandma was going to die,” Harry confessed after a moment, in a whisper, “and then she _did_.”

            Lio nodded encouragingly. “Tell me another one.”

            “I dreamed that our dog, Snoopy, was going to get hit by a car,” Harry told him, slightly more confident this time, “and I left him inside one day while we were all gone. And he made a mess in the house and I got into trouble. But then my dad found a hole in the fence that the garbage truck made!” he added excitedly. “So Snoopy _could_ have gotten out that day, if I hadn’t left him inside.” The brief burst of animation was extinguished suddenly, as he thought of his father and his dog. “And then he might’ve gotten run over,” he finished quietly. Snoopy had regretfully been sent to a local animal shelter; the Doyles had enough to worry about right now, and both Steve and his daughter Molly were allergic to dogs anyway.

            “That was very clever,” Lio assured him. “It’s good to use your knowledge to help others.”

            “They’re just dreams,” Harry muttered. Lio shook his head, holding the boy’s gaze.

            “I’d like you to come with me, Harry,” he repeated. “I can help you learn about all the special things you can do.”

            “I’m not special,” Harry countered, staring at his lap. “If I was special I could’ve—“ He stopped there, but Lio could guess what he was thinking. He reached out his hand and lightly touched the boy’s shoulder.

            “Nothing can bring them back,” he admitted gently. “But you and your sister can live with me, and be safe.” He stood up. “Let your aunt and uncle know what you decide,” he went on formally. “They’ll contact me. I hope to see you again soon, Harry.” With that, Lio left.

 

**

 

            A few days later the Doyles called him. Harry wanted to go with him. They sounded mystified by the decision, but not disapproving. Of course they were sad that he was going so far away, but Lio had assured them that Harry could come back to visit sometimes if he wanted to—and soon their lives would go back to something resembling normal. More normal than with two extra minors to care for and a pile of medical bills, anyway.

            As for Harry’s motivations, Lio could only imagine he’d made some small impression by understanding that the boy was different from his peers, from his adoptive relatives, and by offering to explain those differences further. Who knew why a ten-year-old made life-changing decisions, anyway—perhaps his aunt and uncle had given him a little push in that direction.

            Lio arrived just after dark to pick him up. “We’re going to my hotel in Lincoln,” Lio told Steve as they waited in the foyer. “My wife is there. We don’t plan to leave the state until the girl can come with us,” he added.

            “Really?” Steve asked in surprise. “You’ll be at that hotel for a long time, won’t you?” Harry was upstairs with Lori, who was helping him gather up a few things, so they could speak more frankly.

            “I think it will be safe to move her soon,” Lio predicted, “to a care facility in New Orleans.”

            “Oh. Well, let us know,” Steve told him. “We usually go over to see her once a week or so.”

            “Of course,” Lio agreed quickly. Sometimes he forgot how much these humans cared for their young relations—not that he thought they _didn’t_ care, it was just that he tended to be focused on his own goals. He had momentarily forgotten that although he was taking the two children out of their custody, he wasn’t necessarily taking them out of their lives.

            “And I hope we’ll see Harry, too, as long as you’re in the state,” Steve added, before Lio could offer it.


End file.
